Fix You
by precious-passenger
Summary: When the caretaker is the one who has gotten sick how will the rest of his family take care of him? Dean is thirteen, Sam is nine.


Summary: When the caretaker is the one who has gotten sick how will the rest of his family take care of him? Dean is thirteen, Sam is nine.

A/N: After the finale I needed to write some brotherly fluff to get over all the angst and survive the hiatus.

It's been a hell of a week. My laptop died on me and I had most of this story planned out and written. Send your good thoughts to my laptop and hope that I would be able to recover my data, please.

* * *

Dean hated this poor excuse of a town they were staying this time. Not only the motel was as crappy as it would get, the windows getting opened by the slightest breeze and making Dean reach for the gun every single time, also the weather was so freaking cold. The worst part was, it wasn't even a snowy kind of cold, where the schools would be canceled for snowstorm. It was constantly windy and heavy rain would often fall. His hands would be frozen for a long time after getting to the motel and he'd have to put up with Sam's endless whining. This was the third time in the month that they'd moved and Sam was less than pleased.

No matter how many pep talks Dean gave himself in the morning, that waking up early and enduring the cold weather would toughen him up and maybe Dad would take him to the hunt next time, it was still easier said than done. Getting up from the bed that had _just_ gotten warm wasn't something Dean would be willing to do every morning and he'd be more than happy to sleep those precious moments and catch a quick breakfast by skipping out on his first class. Sammy, however, had to have his milk warmed and his cereal ready by eight o'clock sharp and heaven forbid if he ever skipped.

Right now, he was curled into himself to preserve as much heat as he could. Night time was when it got cold the most.

His eyes were drooping closed when he became alert by his brother's voice.

"Dean?" it came as a whisper.

"What?" he snapped back, annoyed.

"I'm cold," Sam complained.

"Go and wear some more clothes," he suggested.

"I'm wearing all I have."

"Did you wear my jacket too?"

After a few moments of silence, Sam replied.

"I can't get up. The bed has just gotten warm."

Dean sighed and got up, putting back the blanket to save some of the heat for when he came back. He dug into his duffel bag and found some warm jackets and sweaters they usually wore when they went hiking. He helped Sam get dressed and crawled back in his bed.

Some minutes passed and Sam whispered again.

"It's still cold."

Dean held back a sigh and pulled his blanket aside.

"Come on up here," he offered.

"Dude, I'm nine. I'm not going to sleep in the same bed with you anymore," Sam said disgustedly.

"Then stop whining," he hissed, burying his face in the pillow.

He was already sleep when Sam started calling for him.

"Dean, my toes are freezing off."

"Come on, take my blanket," he said, balling his blanket and holding it out for Sam to grab it.

"Are you sure?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, it's not that cold. I'm fine."

That night was the first time since they got into town that Dean shivered all night and the whole day after. Even in his afternoon class, he felt as if the cold wasn't going to leave his body, ever.

* * *

"Sammy, you used all the warm water," Dean grumbled, getting out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped in his waist.

"Sorry, but the water was so warm and outside is so cold. I just couldn't bring myself to get out," Sam said with a content look on his face.

"Well, that's just awesome." Dean said, glancing out of the window only to see rain pouring down.

_What a wonderful morning._

He knew he didn't feel well for about a week. All he wanted to do was sleep and his moves had become sluggish. He snuffled, making a mental note to pop an adult cold from Dad's medicine bag.

"It's getting late, hurry up," he said, exiting the room, leaving Dean to quickly get dressed and tie his shoes on his way out.

His continuous coughing had earned more than enough eye rolls and evil glares from teachers. So, he skipped most of his classes. That way he was free of all the talking that was making his headache worsen. The only downside was the only place he could get was either standing in the cold rain or hanging out with a group of punk kids who sneaked under the bleachers to smoke. The smoke made his eyes water and his throat ache.

When the last bell finally rang, Dean practically jogged to Sam's school, only to wait for an additional fifteen minutes because Sam _had _to stay to ask some questions from his teacher.

Dean went straight to bed when they got back to the motel, burying himself in all the clothes he had and two blankets, seeing that Sammy was off doing homework.

He dreamt of warm soup and apple pies that his mother used to make. Then somehow that transformed to a dream which he was driving the Impala off the cliff and the backseat was on fire…and Sam was hurt. And he didn't know how to drive.

"Dean, Dean…Wake up," he felt Sam shake his shoulders, he woke up coughing.

"What's wrong?" he slurred, refusing to open his eyes.

"You were talking in your sleep."

"Go away, Sammy," Dean mumbled, turning to face away from his brother.

"You look flushed," he observed.

"I had a _real_ nice dream," Dean joked, hoping that would get Sam off his back.

But, Sam wouldn't have it and turned Dean around to look at him more closely. He touched his cheek, then his forehead. Dean shivered under the touch.

"Oh God, you're burning up."

As if on cue, Dean sneezed, his frame shaking by the force.

"I'm not burning up. I'm tired," he said.

"It'll be alright, Sammy. I promise," he patted Sam's knee with his eyes still closed and his energy quickly vanishing, he fell asleep.

* * *

"Dad, please. Dean's sick and I don't know what to do. If you hear this, please call back."

He could hear Sam pacing in the room and he tried to get up to see what was wrong. Did Sam burn his dinner again? That boy just couldn't stop eating.

He took off all the extra clothes he wore, suddenly feeling so warm and got up from the bed only in his t-shirt.

"What are you doing?" Sam ran to his side.

"Making you dinner," he answered, feeling around the fridge for milk, silently praying that they hadn't ran out. He wasn't feeling up to getting some from the nearby store.

"Sorry, Sammy. Looks like you're gonna have cereal without milk," he said, cursing himself for his absentmindedness at taking inventory.

"Woah," he gasped as the room spun around. Sam was by his side in an instant, looking terrified. His vision was blurry for a few moments before clearing up.

"Let's get you back to bed, alright?" he said and Dean let himself be led back.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, Dean fell back to that weird not asleep but not awake state. He started shivering again, pulling the blanket up to his chin only to get warm again._ What the hell?_

He heard Sammy's voice coming close, laying a hand on his forehead. It took him a while to understand that his brother was talking on the phone again.

"I don't know, miss. My friend told me that his brother has a really high fever. What should I-I mean _he_ do? "

That got him alert instantly. Who was Sam calling? He opened his eyes and glared at Sam, silently inquiring who the person on the phone was. Sam mouthed 'Miss Molly'.

_Who the heck was Miss Molly?_

The penny dropped soon and he snatched the phone away from his brother.

"Hello, ma'am… Yes, we're fine. No one here has a 104 degree temperature. Sammy here must've just been playing doctor with his teddy bear. No need to come and check on us, ma'am. Yes, our father will be home very soon. Thank you. Good night."

"Dad's coming home?" Sam asked hopefully.

"You called your teacher? Are you insane?" Dean scolded him.

"I don't know what to do," Sam said, his eyes filling with tears and making Dean feel bad for his outburst.

"You should go sleep, okay? Everything would be better in the morning."

But, he didn't sleep and neither did Sam. Well, at least not until early morning. Dean sneezed and coughed and moved the blanket on and off him so much, he was _this _close to shoot that thing. When Sam offered him some Ibobropain from Dad's bag, he took it. He finally settled at wrapping his blanket around himself, not able to protest as Sam draped his own blanket on him too and sat alert by his side. Dean was finally able to sleep after the medicine took effect.

* * *

When Dean opened his eyes, the sun was shining and he shielded his face immediately.

An unknown object was pushed inside his mouth. He knew instinctively that it was Sam, or he would've grabbed his gun and taken a shot at him.

He heard a beep and he felt Sam getting what he now knew was a thermometer out of his mouth.

"102, thank God."

"What the hell, Sam?" he croaked, wincing as it made his throat hurt.

"How are you feeling?"

"Sam, aren't you supposed to be at school?"

"I went there but then I kinda skipped,"

"What?"

"I went to get these from library," Sam gestured to a stack of books occupying the desk.

"They let you borrow that many books?"

"Yes, I smiled a lot and promised to bring it all back tomorrow."

"What are they about? Don't tell me you've skipped school to do homework. That's like, super messed up nerdy."

"It's about how to treat a fever. It was in shelves for high school students, so it's not just some story of a sick teddy bear."

"Sammy, you know what? We could really use your researching skills," Dean told him excitedly.

"How?" Sam wondered aloud.

"Well, you could read all those lore and I could finally hunt those sons of bitches down with Dad."

"Sound fine to me," Sam laughed, shaking his head._ How can he be so excited about hunting of all things when he's burning up? _

"So, let's get you all better, okay?" Sam said cheerfully, looking happy. "This time I'm going to take care of you."

"Don't get used to it," Dean told him solemnly.

"Dude, why is the kettle boiling water?" he asked, when he saw the steam rising from the stove.

"That's the closest thing I could get to a vaporizer," Sam said sheepishly.

"I also got you some instant soup," he ran to the table to show him the packet. "You're going to have to walk me through it, but I promise I won't burn it," he promised.

"Now, drink your orange juice and then go gargle this saltwater in the bathroom. That should help with the sore throat," he said, taking a pitcher of water and sternly telling Dean that he should drink all of it.

"I don't have a sore throat," Dean said.

"Don't lie to. Go and do as I said," Sam ordered.

"Bossy," Dean grumbled and held the glass on his forehead, marveling at the cold.

Soon he had an armful of Sam, hugging him tight.

"Don't get too close to me. You might catch the cold," he said, pushing Sam away.

"You scared me so much last night," he confessed.

Dean looked around uncomfortably, but smiled secretly to himself.

* * *

A/N: So, thoughts? Reviews would make my day a whole lot brighter.


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